Alright
by Cwicum
Summary: Even warlocks can lose their way, but that's alright. Merlin's alright. Contains mentions of suicidal thoughts/depression.


**A/N: There are many different symptoms for depression, yet most Merlin fanfics I have read go into detail about Merlin feeling useless, idiotic, or stupid. I present to you a different perspective, where after years of doing the same thing, over and over again, Merlin feels a bit, well, mellow. **

**I hope I captured the emotion well. **

**Warnings: Triggers for suicidal thoughts/depression.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Merlin, but for some reason I enjoy making him miserable. But don't we all?**

* * *

"Yes, Sire," Merlin murmured, before exiting the King's chambers and closing the door silently behind him, leaving to fulfill Arthur's long, never-ending list of chores he had written out for him to do.

Merlin's actions were mechanical, his thoughts rushing him through them, step by step:

_Walk to the armory, Merlin. Pick up Arthur's armor, Merlin. Clean it now, Merlin. Don't miss a spot, Merlin! Oh come _on_, Merlin! Why'd you go and drop it for, Merlin? Alright, pick it up again, Merlin. Polish it well, Merlin. It looks good now, Merlin. Now it's time to wipe his boots, Merlin._

"You alright there, Merlin?" Gwaine asked, popping his head through the doorway.

_Smile for the crowd now, Merlin._

Merlin grinned his usual, cheeky, disarming grin. No one would be the wiser.

_What do you say now, Merlin?_

"Ah, I'm fine, Gwaine. I'm alright. Nothing I can't handle," Merlin replied in his usual demeanor.

_Perfect, Merlin!_

"Ah, working again, are we? Is Princess giving you a hard time? Do I have to punch him again?" Gwaine smirked.

"It's alright, Gwaine, really," Merlin insisted, "And Arthur's just being his usual prattish self."

"Then I guess I have to punch him," Gwaine grinned, looking pleased, and he turned around and headed off to do who-knows-what.

As soon as he'd walked out the door, Merlin's smile faded. He looked back down to inspect his work.

_Arthur's boots are clean now, Merlin. Time to get him some dinner now, Merlin._

And off Merlin went to the kitchens.

xxx

It was always the same monotonous schedule.

Wake up. Eat breakfast (if possible). Wake Arthur up. Get Arthur breakfast. Launder Arthur's clothes. Clean Arthur's room. Wipe Arthur's boots. Polish Arthur's armor. Walk Arthur's dogs. Go hunting with Arthur. Muck out the stables (probably the _only_ thing that _didn't_ involve Arthur). Save Arthur's life. Go home. Eat dinner (if possible). Sleep.

Repeat, ad nauseum.

Each and every day, it was always, "Do this for Arthur, do that for Arthur, do everything _for Arthur_," but Arthur, being the prat that he was, couldn't tell the _difference_.

And Merlin himself couldn't tell when it had all stopped mattering.

He didn't know when it had all stopped working out. He didn't know when he had stopped caring for everything altogether. All he knew was that he had been working for Arthur for nearly a decade. Nine years, in fact.

Nine long, _tiring_ years.

It had been nine years since they had first met. Nine years since he was first dubbed Arthur's manservant. Nine years since he found out about his _brilliant_ destiny to unite Albion and free magic.

And yet, here he was. Five years into Arthur's rule, and not a single step closer to accomplishing that _stupid_ destiny of his. Not a single step closer to telling Arthur the truth.

So Merlin did what he did best. He waited, and waited, and _waited_.

But it hadn't been good enough.

xxx

It all felt so surreal, like a vague, hazy dream of sorts.

Merlin's actions felt slowed, and his thoughts were muddled, disorganized, and choppy.

Merlin often found that he couldn't remember anything he'd done beyond the time span of a few hours.

Sometimes, he'd walk back to the armory to realize that he'd already polished Arthur's armor. One time he couldn't recall what Arthur had ordered him to do, so he had had to walk all the way back to the king's chambers and asked a smug king to repeat himself.

_"Daydreaming now are we, _Mer_lin?" Arthur had asked, smirking._

_"You know it, _Sire_," Merlin had drawled, sarcastically._

"Idiot."

He never allowed himself to forget again, however. Merlin had known how suspicious it would be to repeatedly walk into the king's chambers and ask him to repeat himself.

But Arthur hadn't noticed. He never did.

Merlin had repeatedly done all of his chores thousands of times by now, and he could probably do them all with his eyes closed.

Merlin had gone and saved Arthur's life so many times. It was all just a force of habit running out in the middle of the night and diffusing the threat, all in time for supper.

Nothing felt _real_ anymore, and nothing felt like it mattered. Not even his emotions felt real.

His smiles were forced and his laughs felt fake. He found that everything he used to enjoy—talking with the knights, fighting with the knights, and the easy-going banter between him and Arthur—couldn't even toggle a _single_ true reaction from him. He felt tired, bored, and unhindered, but nobody would enjoy a depressed manservant, would they? So he didn't complain. He knew he was a brilliant actor, when he needed to be.

And that's what he was: an actor. He was fulfilling a _role_. The perfect manservant, the perfect friend, the perfect protector.

Merlin didn't know when he had stopped _caring_ and when he had started feeling this way.

Merlin would sometimes sit and wonder how everyone would react if he were, you know, _gone_. Nonexistent.

_Dead_.

It would be so easy. So _foolishly_ easy that he could do it today, tomorrow, _right now_.

A simple mispronounced spell. He _wasn't_ perfect.

Stumbling down the stairs. He was clumsy _enough_.

Running off to fight to the death against a sorcerer and never coming back. He couldn't defeat _everyone_.

But, of course, he'd never actually _acted_ on those thoughts. He hadn't even physically hurt himself. He only watched, biding his time. I mean, he wasn't suicidal if he just _waited_ for it to happen, right?

But it all started with Arthur's sword.

xxx

It had been an accident. Really, it had. One moment he had been polishing Arthur's sword and the next…

"Ow!" Merlin yelped, as he accidentally dropped the sword, effectively nicking his arm. Well, _that_ was going to leave a mark. He'd probably have to clean it later and maybe…

Oh… _oh_.

He was bleeding. A lot. Now _that_ was not good. It wasn't just a scratch. It was effectively a very large gash. It would probably leave a scar. No, it would _definitely _leave a scar.

Yet Merlin stared. And he shrugged.

Well, he still had chores to finish. That and it didn't hurt, not really. It wouldn't be a bother, so why even care?

So staring numbly at the gash, Merlin continued on, removing the blood-his blood-off of the sword and finishing his chores.

xxx

It hadn't been as easy as he'd thought, cleaning the sword. Every tiny movement would be greeted with a quick burst of pain, right across his arm. He dropped the sword a couple more times, effectively cutting himself some more. It hurt, it really did, but he had chores to do and whatever was wrong now could wait until later.

Yet Merlin couldn't help but notice the blinding hurt that pervaded his dreary senses with every small movement of his arm. It was noticeable and Merlin with his dulled senses couldn't help but wonder how long it had been since he'd actually _felt_anything.

It had been a while now, he knew. A while since anything he'd done had actually felt _real_. For a while he was left feeling somber, apathetic, and completely and utterly _tired_. Yet here, now, this strange tingling sensation that sent spiraling waves of pain through his upper arm didn't leave him feeling frightened, scared. No, it did not. It made him feel _ecstatic._

Despite the circumstances, Merlin couldn't help but feel a bit happy to know that he could actually _feel_ something, anything. Something in his deluded, fogged mind registered that it was _wrong_ to feel this way, but he didn't care. He _felt_ and that was all that mattered, in the end. It was a piercing, aching pain that penetrated through the foggy barriers of his dejected mind, and he couldn't have wanted anything else. It was there. It was _real._

Merlin sighed, savoring the feeling of reality.

xxx

It had been weeks since the "sword incident" and Merlin had fallen once again back into the rhythmic, redundant pattern of his life. Each and every day, Arthur would prattle on, listing Merlin's usual chores. During all of this, Merlin would pretend to become more and more outraged by the second. He was getting quite good at it, if he did say so himself. Afterwards, Merlin himself would ramble on and on, spitting out pointless jargon that he was used to saying. Eventually, Arthur and Merlin would go their separate ways, Merlin off to do his servant-duties and Arthur off to do his kingly ones, and Merlin would drop the facade of his happiness.

Today, however, it was different. Instead of simply going their separate ways, Arthur had decided to wait a little bit longer and turned around to face his manservant. He gave Merlin a hard, calculating look that Merlin could tell didn't mean anything good.

"_Mer_lin," the king began, "What on _earth _is wrong with you these days? You might think I haven't been paying attention, but even an idiot can tell that you've been acting funny lately. You lack your usual cheeky demeanor and haven't once called me a prat in at least three days. Not that I mind, of course. It's quite refreshing actually to know that you might be for once acting like you actually respect me. And besides, I..."

Off Arthur went on his long, never-ending rampage that was supposed to sound aloof and uncaring, yet managed to make Arthur sound like he cared even more than he probably did. Finally, Arthur stopped and said, "But I _know_ that's not what's happening. Now, tell me Merlin, or by the Gods I will send you to the stocks, what _are_you up to?"

Merlin took a deep breath, before slipping easily into the facade of a cheery manservant.

"Now what are you getting on about, Arthur? I'd have thought that you _enjoyed_ me not calling you a prat for such a long time. And you should be careful, you almost sounded like you _cared_," Merlin grinned his cheeky grin, and Arthur almost fell for the deliberate change in conversation.

Almost.

"_Mer_lin, don't act like I don't know what you are doing. You've been doing this all week! Purposely changing the topic mid-conversation and making me feel like a bloody idiot. Well, not today, _Mer_lin. You _will_ tell me. I am the king, and I _order _you to tell me!" Arthur roared.

Merlin stood, frozen to the spot. The king was _serious_. A simple deviation in the topic of conversation wasn't going to stop him this time. Arthur was arrogant, and if he wanted to know something, he would figure it out eventually.

"Arthur, there isn't anything to say. I'm fine. Everything's alright," Merlin said, a bit too defensive for his liking.

Arthur noticed.

"_Mer_lin," Arthur warned, his voice a low growl. "I-"

Suddenly, mid-thought, the king seemed to change tactics.

"Merlin, please," the king pleaded, his voice lowering into a desperate plea.

The king _pleaded_. The king, who never beg, never asked, only ordered, was pleading to him, Merlin, now just to tell him what was _wrong_.

If the situation hadn't been so dire and Merlin was capable of it, he'd have laughed.

Instead, he merely shook his head.

"No," he said, "There's nothing wrong."

Suddenly, the fire in Arthur's eyes returned.

"Fine. I'll let you go this time. But know that eventually, you _will_tell me. If not today, tomorrow. And if not tomorrow, the next," Arthur replied, spinning around gracefully and walking away.

Merlin shook his head and sighed.

_Believe me, I'd tell you if I knew._

xxx

Arthur had kept his promise. Every day, he'd poke and prod at Merlin, hoping that he'd break, but every day, he'd eventually relent to Merlin's ongoing stubbornness. He'd always leave with the promise that "he _would_ tell him" and that "if not today, tomorrow."

Those arguments, at first, had been an exciting new development to eagerly await for in Merlin's day, but it eventually faded back into the deep haze that was his life.

Eventually, one day, he just couldn't take anymore.

"Look, Arthur," Merlin began, "You won't get anything out of me. You know it, I know it, we both _know_ it."

Arthur opened his mouth, about to make some sarcastic retort, but something in Merlin's eyes made him think twice. He immediately clamped his mouth shut and Merlin continued.

"I know that you think that whatever you're doing is best, and I appreciate it, I really do, but Arthur, please, just… just _leave_ it."

There was silence and Arthur seemed to think, weighing his options, his chances of ever getting Merlin to break, but he knew that there was no chance. No chance at all.

Eventually, he seemed to come to a decision and nodded.

"Alright," he said.

Merlin nodded his thanks and they went their separate ways.

xxx

Back into the rhythmic pattern of his hum-drum lifestyle, Merlin found that he couldn't _handle _it anymore.

That was what the knife was for, of course.

He wasn't going to kill himself, obviously. He was just looking for release. That small, signifying pain that meant that broke through his defenses and told him that everything was _real_. That everything he was doing meant _something_.

And that was what the cuts on his wrists were for, of course.

He had been doing it for weeks now, every day taking a moment or two of his time to just _do it_ and make everything feel _real_. For the first few days, it had only been done once or twice, but these days it didn't help much at all if he only did that much. Eventually the scarring became so utterly _terrible_ that he had to resort to magical means to heal himself in time to make nobody notice.

Today, however, was different. Today, instead of suicide being the least most on his mind, it was, instead, the foremost.

He thought of the gashes.

Oh, it would be _so_ easy. Just doing it. Right here, right now. Just _ending_ it. One, quick cut at the neck, maybe a swift stab at the stomach. One here, another there. It'll all be so easy. Too easy, in fact.

And he thought of his friends.

Oh, Arthur would get through it, eventually. He was king, and as king there was no time to spend weeping over "useless manservants."

Gwen might cry a bit but eventually she'd understand. It was all for the best.

Gwaine would rage, he knew. He'd be angry, probably blame Arthur. Oh, he hoped that Gwaine didn't do anything stupid to get himself arrested or something else. That'd just be terrible.

The other knights would probably go see him off at his funeral, but in the end they barely knew him at all. He was just a manservant to them, anyway.

And there was Gaius. Gaius would be grief-stricken. He would not be able to handle the news well at all. He might cope, but eventually it'd all get to him.

Merlin sighed, pausing mid-cut with the knife at his throat. There went his resolve again. He'd pondered suicide once or twice, but it always lead to him sighing and ultimately feeling emptier than he'd had felt before.

_It's alright_, he assured himself_, I'll get it right eventually._

xxx

Time passed and Merlin's actions were performed as if in a trance. His responses were automatic, calculated for the best response. His smiles were performed to the very best of his ability. His easy-going banter with Arthur continued and no one was the wiser. He didn't expect them to be, of course. Why should they? They all had their lives to worry about, and he had his to worry about.

And that's what it was: worrisome.

And soon came the days where he'd find even the smallest action worrisome. Even the smallest movement a tire. His well-practiced puppet of a manservant soon became as muddled and rusty as his thoughts were. His reliance on his own magic became so large that he wondered why nobody had already noticed.

So came the day when someone finally did.

"So," Arthur fumed, voice dropping into a venomous growl, "You have _magic_."

Merlin paused from where he was polishing Arthur's boots. He blinked and looked up, a familiar sensation which he supposed to be fear stirring up inside him. He shrugged it off, uncaring.

"Sire?" he deadpanned.

"Don't you 'Sire' me! I _trusted_ you, and you threw that away as if it was nothing, _Mer_lin! How could you do this? Practice magic, of all things? Become a… become a traitor?" Arthur roared, hand grabbing the hilt of his sword.

Merlin blinked once more, looking curiously at Arthur as if trying to figure him out.

"I… I do have magic," Merlin replied, as if stating a simple fact.

This seemed to enrage the already vicious king even more, who suddenly grabbed the collar of Merlin's shirt, lifting him off of the ground and slamming him into the wall.

"_Mer_lin..." the king growled, "Just… Just tell me _why_. Tell me and I'll listen. _Why_ did you do it? What did I do wrong, Merlin?"

Merlin stared at the king blankly, his eyes empty and unfeeling, despite being able to see a side of the king that normally was not shown to anyone else.

_What is he talking about? I think I should be scared. He found out about my magic? How should I feel? What will happen now? Do I care what will happen? Why does he even care? Will he kill me? Will I _die_?_

Merlin's eyes widened at the prospect of death.

"I'm a sorcerer!" he shouted, suddenly. "What does it matter what I have to say in my defense? Don't you think I'd probably lie just to save my skin? I'm a _sorcerer, _for goodness' sake!"

Shocked by the sudden outburst, Arthur lost his grip and completely let go of Merlin's collar. He backed away, staring at Merlin with wide eyes.

"Wh-what on _earth_ are you talking about?" Arthur asked.

"Oh, come on!" Merlin shouted, throwing his arms open as if to welcome Arthur. "Do what you came here for! You came to kill me, right? Swipe at me, cut me down!"

Arthur remained still, staring as one would to someone mentally unstable.

Merlin frowned, before turning around.

"Oh, alright. Do you think I'm going to attack you? Here, I've got my back to you now. Now, come on, Arthur!"

There was silence as time passed, and Merlin visibly faltered.

"M-Merlin?" Arthur whispered.

"Just… just end it… Please," was the reply he got.

Arthur froze but immediately got his bearings.

"No," Arthur said in response, slowly approaching him. "No, I won't. Not now, not ever. Merlin you… you _idiot_. If something was wrong why didn't you just—Oh, I don't care about the magic, you fool! I just… Look, Merlin I—"

"Merlin… whatever's wrong, we'll fix it. And… and if I'm what's wrong we can… we can fix that too," Arthur said, "Alright?"

Merlin nodded once, a small smile playing at the corner of his lips. Maybe… maybe now… maybe now it was going to be all right.

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**Reviews are appreciated and aid me on my quest to become a better writer!**


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